Wayward Island (Part 4) How Randy and Jake Went to Church By Jake Preston
Reader restrictions: no minors, no readers who are offended by explicit descriptions of gay sexuality. The story as a whole is a psychological study of gay athletic hunks who love nerds, and the nerds who love them in return. The story also deals with the problems faced by gay guys who live in rural areas. If these themes don't interest you, there are many other great "nifty" stories to choose from. All characters are fictional and are not based on real persons. Most place-names are fictional, too. Send comments and suggestions to jemtling@gmail.com. Jake will respond to all sincere correspondents. Please consider supporting "Nifty Stories" with a donation! To learn how, click "Donate" in the index heading.
Sunday morning. Randy and I were on the road to Crane Lake by nine-thirty. I wasn't sure how long it would take in winter, so we got an early start. "Besides," I told Randy, "there's a restaurant in town where we can hang out if we're too early." The church service starts at eleven. We had no plans to attend Sunday School.
The church was really a log cabin, maybe twenty by forty feet, with a loft that served as Billy White Cloud's study. It was heated by a Franklin stove in the center. Instead of pews where were folding chairs. Instead of plumbing, there was an outhouse in back of the building. The old fashioned stand-up piano was slightly out of tune, but the pianist, a Chippewa boy of eighteen or nineteen, was a good player, good looking, and probably gay. I thought the place was charming. I was surprised that Randy thought it off-putting. I didn't say it, but I thought that Randy was being snobby about Billy White Cloud's church-not the right way for gay guys to treat each other. "Is it the outhouse you don't like?"
The Chippewa boy was glaring at me, as if I was an intruding stranger. That's what I thought at first. Later I realized that he was smitten. His gaze was directed at me. He hardly noticed Randy. Unusually for a country church, the boy was playing a Mendelssohn piano piece as a prelude before the service. He knew it well enough to play it by heart while glancing at me. I fancied that he was playing it for me. As a sign of approval, I gave him an O with my thumb and index finger. There ought to be a name for that gesture. Maybe there is. The boy was short and slender, gracile, sweet-looking-the type of guy I'd like to make a man of.
Before the service started, Randy and I saw Billy at the front door. He thanked us for coming. I asked to see him in private, so we walked to one side of the building. I asked him about the pianist. Billy said he name was Red Feather. Was that his first name or his last name? I wondered. Just Red Feather. I asked if t Red Feather could be invited to join us. Our threesome would be a foursome. "Only if you treat him with kindness," Billy said. "He's nineteen, but still an inexperienced boy." We could pair off, I suggested: Randy with Billy, and me with Red Feather. Billy agreed eagerly.
"By the way, I've got a turkey in the oven, so we'll have a feast ready when we get to my place," I said. "And about Red Feather, he's quite an accomplished musician. He's playing Mendelssohn, without the aid of a score."
"You noticed!"
Most people imagine the North Country as a hopelessly uncultured wasteland - not without reason. I myself have encountered rural mindlessness. One of my cousins, Dave Preston (a lumber-cutting contractor) once laughed at my foolishness for spending money on hard-cover books. He had been to college, where he was single-minded in his study of business. At graduation he was the same person as when he started as a freshman. College should be like first-time sex. It should make you a different person: maybe happier or sadder, but always wiser. At the time of his college graduation, Dave's mind was virginal, improved only by a practical knack for numbers. Maybe he's the norm, but there are many folks in the North Country who are interested in music and culture. Red Feather was one of them. Still, musical genius lifted Red Feather to a status above all others. We would go far, I could see, if only someone would help him.
The service was planned as a prelude to Thanksgiving. "We Gather Together to Ask the Lord's Blessing." "Come Ye Thankful People Come." "For the Beauty of the Earth." A young lady, introduced as the lector, read a passage about the "spiritual gifts" from Ephesians 4, which declares that everyone in the church is blessed with some gift or special talent, and that everyone's gift is as important as any other. The church had a pulpit, but Billy didn't make much use of it. Instead, he walked around the room, repeating the theme "diverse gifts." He wanted us to play a game. Each of us must identify someone else in the congregation who had some special talent. He said we should start with our two visitors from Lake Ashawa, who were friends of his. Billy started the game by naming Randy for his Irish charm, and said how nice he had been to Mrs. Ravitch in Hibbing. Randy stood up and introduced me as a writer of mysteries. (I silently thanked God that Randy was on his best behavior and said nothing about the talents with which he was more familiar!) I stood up and praised Red Feather for playing Mendelssohn. I never saw a "red" man turn so red with blushing, three times red! Red Feather praised Mrs. Helen White Dove for her donuts in the town's coffee shop. Mrs. White Dove stood up and praised one of the children for memorizing John 3:16. And so it continued throughout the congregation, until everyone was praised for some gift-even the children. There were about thirty people present, mostly women, but a few men, and twelve children. Randy and I stood out as the only "white men." All the others were Chippewa. For the offering, I had prepared a check for $100, but held it back. Instead I wrote a check for $200.
After the service, almost everyone in the congregation greeted us. We no longer felt like strangers. Even Randy was moved. As a Catholic, he had never been to a service like this. After everyone else had gone, Randy, Billy, and I were free to talk strategy while Red Feather listened. We decided that Billy would drive to my place with Randy, and Red Feather would ride with me. Randy had expected a threesome, but he was pleased with the new arrangement. He had designs on Billy White Cloud's ass. For me and Red Feather, it was more like a blind date.
On the drive back to my place, I broke the ice with Red Feather by asking him what other pieces he knew by heart besides Mendelssohn. He rattled off some Bach, and Brahms, and Liszt, and Chopin, mostly self-taught. I made up my mind to help this boy get a proper musical education. I told him about my career, writing mystery novels. He talked about his life on the Reservation. His mother had died of an untreated cancer. His father was killed in a car accident. He had been driving drunk. The church was his only family, and Billy White Cloud was his mentor.
"I guess you already know that Randy and I are gay. That's why we're getting together," I said.
"I know."
I invited Red Feather to sit closer in the car. "You can put your hand on my leg, if you want to." I said. Red Feather hesitated, and blushed. "It's all right, Red Feather. We're going to be friends," I said. He moved closer. I felt his hand on my leg. He moved it around a bit, exploring my leg muscles.
I told Red Feather about our plan for the afternoon. "First we'll feast on turkey, then we'll take a sauna, the four of us together. After that, we'll pair off. You and me. Billy and Randy. If that's agreeable to you."
Red Feather he had never had sex with anyone. He was nervous. He never dreamed that his first guy would be an athletic hunk. "Don't worry about that, Red Feather," I said. "I won't bark or bite. I'm just a regular guy."
"That I don't believe," Red Feather said. "The 'regular guy' part, I mean."
"Red Feather, I'm going to tell you something about me that you should know. It's a secret. Can you keep a secret?"
Red Feather nodded.
"In most gay relationships, one guy is mostly a top, and the other is a bottom. Many gay guys are versatile and can go either way, but most gay love affairs are between tops and bottoms," I said. "It's a law of nature. Of course, if you love someone, you can be anything your lover needs you to be."
"That's the secret?"
"No, that's not the secret," I continued. "Would you care to guess what I am: top, bottom, or versatile?"
"I assume you're a top, but a kind one," Red Feather said.
"And you?"
"I don't really know." Red Feather said.
"You don't know, or you're too shy to say?" I asked. "Do you think you have to say you're a bottom just because you think I'm a top? Let me put the question this way. Forget about me, and Randy, and Billy. If you entered a room with two guys who wanted to be with you, let's call them Black Bear and Blue Fox, and you knew that Black Bear was a top, and Blue Fox was a bottom, which one would you choose to be with? You can only choose one."
"I guess I'd go with Blue Fox," he said.
"Good answer," I said. "You can feel my crotch if you want." Red Feather explored my hardened crotch with his hand. "That's Blue Fox," I said.
Red Feather looked bewildered. "Red Feather," I said, "I'm not the only hunk in the world who likes to get fucked by a guy," I said. "Looks can be deceiving." Red Feather blushed. "I'm sorry if I'm being too direct, or moving too fast," I said. "We don't have to do anything today. We can just hang out, if that's what you want. I like being together with you just for who you are."
We approached the town of Orr. "Maybe you should move back to the window," I said. "Someone might see us." Red Feather moved over.
Half way between Orr and Ashawa, I turned on a dirt road that led to a deserted farm. On one side of the road was woods; on the other side, a wind-swept field of snow. "Let's get out and take a look," I said. Once we were outside, Red Feather looked alarmed. Was he afraid I might leave him there? I held his hand. We trudged down the road in the snow. "Your music blew my socks off," I said. Your body blows my rocks off, I wanted to say, but instead: "You're a very nice guy. I think it's time you made friends off the Reservation, starting with me and Randy." I hugged him. He hugged me back. It wasn't an embrace or a kiss, just a hug for reassurance, but I guided his hand toward my butt. He blushed, but he enjoyed the familiarity. He liked it that he could lay hands on me.
When we got to the cabin, Randy and Billy were busy setting the table. Randy had already started boiling potatoes and beans. I assigned Red Feather the task of carving the turkey, while I made the gravy. Randy opened the red wine. I assigned Red Feather the task of opening the brandy, for after dinner. We enjoyed our feast, with good conversation, not without jokes about me and Red Feather arriving somewhat later than we should have done. Red Feather blushed at the memory of his hand on my butt.
After dinner, we all pitched in to clean up the dishes. I put most of the leftover turkey in a plastic box for Red Feather to take home with him. The best way to make dinner guest feel at home is to let them help out with serving dinner. Billy took Red Feather aside to ask if he was all right with the way things were going. "If you want out, I can take you home," he said. Red Feather said he wanted to stay. "I really like Jake," he said. "I want to be with him."
Randy and Billy sat by the fire with their brandy. I told them that Red Feather would help me prepare the sauna. We loaded a basket of towels, wash cloths, and soap. We donned our coats, and trudged through the snow to the lake. I showed Red Feather how to prepare the coals and light the fire through a little metal door behind the sauna. When the fire was lit, we filled pails of water to put on a shelf by the stove. Together we foraged for balsam boughs, and laid them in a bundle on the top bench in the sauna. I explained their use to Red Feather.
We went for a walk in the forest. "It will take a half hour or more to warm up the sauna," I said. "There's no hurry. Are you ready for this?" I asked Red Feather. "We'll all be naked in the sauna, and there will be a lot of messing around and grab-ass, that sort of thing," I said. "Let them do what they want. I won't let them fuck you. And make sure you pay them back with some grab-ass of your own."
Red Feather held my hand. "I'm just glad I'll be with you, Jake," he said. He seemed to wander in a dream, when we walked in the woods together. "I've got an idea," I said, "It's still deer hunting season. We could go hunting tomorrow, if you want, and maybe stay with me for a few days. How would that be? I could drive you back to Crane Lake on Friday, or earlier if you need to."
"I'd love to, Jake, but I've never been hunting before, and I don't know how to use a gun."
"Tell you what," I replied, "Tomorrow morning we'll go to town for our hunting licenses, and get you some hunting gear. We can spend the afternoon target-shooting. I've got a couple .22s that are good enough for hunting. Of course, we'll have to clean them. I'm pretty rusty myself. Then we can hunt on Tuesday, or maybe all week if we don't have any luck."
Red Feather realized that I was offering friendship, not just a roll in the sack. He agreed, enthusiastically. I wondered why Billy White Cloud hadn't taken him hunting, but figured that maybe Billy didn't hunt, either.
We returned to the cabin to find Randy and Billy sipping brandy and making out on the sofa. They still had their clothes on, but their newfound friendship was evident in their faces and tented crotches. Billy blushed when Red Feather saw him in Randy's embrace. Red Feather's face reddened, too. Billy had been his substitute father, so he was embarrassed at the thought that Billy would see him naked, and be naked himself.
"We're all guys here. Get used to it," I admonished. I had a supply of little blue pills and passed them around. We sat in a circle by the fire, and washed viagra down with brandy, like taking communion.
Red Feather and I sat by the fire Indian-style with our brandies (no pun intended!). It was sauna time. I told Randy and Billy to change into sweats and go. We would follow in a few minutes. We watched Randy and Billy get rock-hard naked in the bedroom. Red Feather was awed by the sight of Randy's nine-incher. Together they looked like a page torn from Ripley's "Believe it or Not." Billy fondled Randy's cock and giggled. Randy squeezed Billy's butt in a proprietary way. Amid the splendor of Randy's frontal display, Billy had no reason to complain that hid cute butt had gone unnoticed. It is everyone's fate to look for love in his own way. Randy and Billy found theirs.
As soon as they left, I took Red Feather's hand and led him to the bedroom. I stripped while he watched. Adolescent admiration mingled with lust as he looked me over. I dropped my sweats on the floor. When I bent over to pick up the sweats, I moved slowly, to give Red Feather a chance to look at my butt. I smiled, arms raised, muscles flexed, and turned round a couple times in playful exhibition. I moved in close to Red Feather, and flexed again. Red Feather put his hands on my chest. I invited him to pinch my nipples. "Harder," I whispered. "Yeah, that's the way."
I pinched Red Feather's nipples in return. He yelped. They were too sensitive for pinching, so I switched to a soft caress of his nipples and pits. "It takes time and patience to learn another man's body," I said.
Red Feather fondled my torso, arms, thighs. I guided his hand to my cock. I turned around to show my backside. His hands roved down my back, from shoulders to butt. I spread my legs wide apart. Red Feather ran his fingers into my crevice. I stood with one foot on the bed and bent forward. "How's this for a target?" I asked. Red Feather pawed my naked butt.
I pulled up my sweatpants and put on a sweatshirt. It was Red Feather's turn to strip. I helped him out of his shirt. He shucked his pants and shorts. His gracile body shimmered in the dim light of the kerosene lamp. His golden skin was silky with brown. His cock throbbed six inches. I fondled it. "This will cause me some pain. I have a weakness for foreskins," I said as I retracted his. Slowly it slid back into place. I helped him into his sweats.
I explained the routine of the sauna: soaping, rinsing, balsam-massage, rolling in the snow, free-play in the steam-room. I passed out bars of soap and wash cloths. For our first task --- the soap-job --- I was tempted to pair Red Feather with Randy, and me with Billy, but swapping partners would have been too advanced for Red Feather. This was Gay Love 101. It was enough to watch Billy and Randy fondle each other with soapy hands. Red Feather and I imitated them with a puppy-love version of fondling.
Red Feather joined in more fully during the balsam-massage. He seemed to be shy about the other guys handling his cock, but he liked touching the others. No one complained that his anatomy had been untouched by balsamy hands. When we went outside for a snow break, I stood with my back to Red Feather and wrapped his hands around my abdomen. I dropped face-forward into the snow, taking Red Feather with me. His cock nestled in my crack while we rolled in the snow. Randy and Billy played grab-ass.
Red Feather's hero-worship worked to my advantage, and to my disadvantage. He wanted to be with me, but wide-eyed admiration was a barrier to lust. How to change bromance to romance? Our potential wouldn't be unleashed until Red Feather could see me as an available sex object. I wouldn't force the issue. Friendship was more important than sex. In time we would have both.